


Wherever I May Roam

by Lunarium



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She despised the world of men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherever I May Roam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Burning_Nightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/gifts).



> Written for Burning_Nightingale who asked for something both sweet and angsty. I hope I've accomplished this! :)

She despised the world of men. It was their foul deeds, their greed and war which had brought Niënor to her current and terrible plight. Without home, kin, or sense of identity, she scoured through dark forests with but a small blade in hand, and all who encountered her encountered death. 

She was made barren after enduring trials of agony, the fall down the Cabed-en-Aras costing her the unborn child. With sheer great will, Finduilas was able to pull her out, and by miracle her broken body healed and Niënor survived. However, she never had a monthly bleed again since the ordeal, as was common of mortal women, but Finduilas thought it a mercy after the woman’s suffering. There was one less pain in her life, but Niënor thought differently. 

She eventually returned to the Cabed-en-Aras, her deeds having led men to fear it and deem it haunted. It became the Cabed Naeramarth, the Leap of Dreadful Doom, for seldom did anyone pass it now without tasting the bitter revenge of Niënor’s blade. 

The rover, the nomad, the vagabond - all were names others had used when speaking of her; though to Finduilas she remained still as Niënor, a woman of mourning personified. 

In time, with coaxing from Finduilas, Niënor found a place to call her home, a cave deep in the forests so she may keep watch of it at all times. And there had been other women Niënor found and collected. They had either be found dragged by orcs or even men, their evil intents clear; and all met the same fate by Niënor’s blade, and their weapons she collected and kept stored in the cave she hoarded for her own. The women were saved, a second chance of life and happiness in the form of a cave beside other women and stashes of weapons: swords and knives and axes and arrows, of Men and orcs and even elves who leered at the sight of Niënor and her unruly and unwashed appearance. 

With every kill her hatred of the men who violated her grew. In the evenings as she rested from her day’s hard work, contending against the cruel brutality of men, Finduilas bathed her in the gentle and patient comfort nature of their own sex. Hands, calloused and blistered, were met with kisses that felt like flutterings of butterfly wings, making its way up to her cheeks, and finally to her lips. 

During the daytime Finduilas lured game towards Niënor who would only then remember she must eat and feed the other women. The women knew how to hunt, but by her command they mostly kept close to the cave. Meanwhile, Niënor’s gaze ever drew towards the Terrible North. Finduilas, knowing her intention, feared for her life.

“You almost died,” she reminded her one evening. “It is a poor way to honor Eru for giving you a second chance.” 

“But what life is this?” Niënor said flatly, her voice having long gone hollow. “Left to live as savage beasts in the wild while the men continue to poison this world with their hate.” 

“They will know you come for revenge,” Finduilas said.

“Good. I want Morgoth to know.” Niënor snapped the rabbit bones in her hand.

“The Great Worm is dead,” Finduilas said. “He brought upon the misery on you, but he will not harm you any more.”

“He acted upon the order of another,” Niënor said. A thin line of blood from an uncooked part of the rabbit trickled down, staining her hands.

“Morgoth cannot be touched by any,” Finduilas argued gently. “No amount of great elves could bring him harm!”

“One has, a man of your kin,” Niënor said. “And Morgoth is the root of all my misery, as he was the root of Fingolfin’s. Do I not also deserve my revenge?” 

“He is the root of all our agony,” Finduilas said. “I was not yet born when my father passed the Grinding Ice, but they speak of that time with sorrow, for many knew someone who died. Valinor my father’s home was a joy for all, though my mother lived here in the darkness while Morgoth terrorized them, took my people and reforged them into orcs. There is not one family on Arda who has not been slated by Morgoth. We all deserve our revenge, Niënor, and we achieve it by different means. Living a life of love and comfort, that alone angers him.” 

“A woman overcame him once,” Niënor said, more to herself and giving no indication that she had even heard Finduilas speak. “I see why it cannot be done again.” 

“The woman was part Maia,” Finduilas wanted to retort but could already feel that she had lost this battle. One of the women from the cave approached Niënor then, shyly asking if she would have more rabbit with her soup. 

The following morning, Finduilas rushed at the sound of the commotion coming from beyond the thicket of trees. 

Niënor slashed at the band of orcs, her blade claiming some of their lives and incapacitating others enough to stop them from escaping. 

“Niënor, stop!” Finduilas cried out, her voice a sharp song which whistled through the leaves, the shrill sound sending shivers up Niënor’s spine. She threw down the orc she had been dueling with and turned towards the trees. 

“They were dragging a young child with them,” Niënor explained roughly. “One of our own.” 

“Then return the child to her mother,” Finduilas said. “Fight off the kidnapper - kill him if you must, but don’t take this as invitation to go on another killing spree!” 

“Wherever I may roam, the roads will be clear of all filth men have brought upon this world!”

“And suppose they called for other orcs to aid them! Suppose they cornered you, killed you! What then of the cave and the others?” 

Niënor did not reply, though her eyes shone with unshed tears of anger. She turned back towards the North. 

“Niënor!” cupping one cheek with her hand, Finduilas turned Niënor’s face so they would peer into one another’s eyes. She kissed her softly, letting her lips dwell against Niënor’s own. 

“Niënor, please. I have given so much of my own life in saving you from the gorge,” Finduilas said. “The least you could do is enjoy your second chance which I have granted you.” 

She could sense the tension from the other lessen, her shoulders relaxing as a sadness shone in her eyes. 

“It’s so easy to forget and take things for granted,” Niënor eventually spoke. “Though every time I look at you, you are a reminder of that. You need not have given up your own life for me. I do not know if the others can even see you. I sometimes cannot even feel you, Finduilas.” 

Finduilas smiled sadly. Her ghostly fingers trailed down Niënor’s arm, taking her hand in hers. “Set down your blade for today. Return the child and tend to the people who look to you know as their leader. Strike only when you must. But forget the world beyond here. Men will destroy one another eventually. Let us live what remains of our time here, with the homeless like ourselves.” 

Niënor’s eyes, misting as Finduilas spoke, finally nodded, holding on to the spirit’s hand as tightly as she could.


End file.
